Dead Leaves

June 6, 2011
Red, brown, yellow, and orange,
A dab of green here and there—
Yet disappears in winter’s chill.
As soon as they change,
Adjusting to the world.
Incorporating what the world sees as
Beautiful,
They fall and shatter.
Broken and torn.
Under the feet of humanity,
They return to the dust and soil.
And the cycle begins again.
Green and pale yellow,
Shimmering with dew and petals.
They change,
For their fall.





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